Consequences
by hodorexmachina
Summary: The victim of a potion gone awry, Willow finds herself struggling to maintain control over her own unstable identity. Set to begin around the events of "What's my Line" in season 2.


_"A potion," Giles said. He held up the twinkling vial, looking drained, but elated. "Willow, I don't want to get anyone's hopes up yet. But the power in this- it has the potential to at least aid the way we fight, if not transform it all together."_

_Willow eyed the tiny bottle suspiciously. The liquid inside was murky gray and viscous, slopping against the sides of the glass like mud. It looked disgusting. "What does it do, exactly?" she inquired politely._

_"The directions I found were rather vague. But should a vampire ever attempt to sire you, it should prevent you from turning." He cleared his throat. "Probably."_

_"Probably?" Willow snorted. "Gee whiz, Giles, here's hoping we don't have to have to find out the hard way."_

_Giles looked indignant. "The text was damaged!" he said defensively. "I couldn't read everything. And it's not my fault I had to improvise, some of the ingredients were extinct- nothing _key_, mind you…" he added hastily._

_Willow wasn't listening. An image formed in her mind- of herself, feral and snarling, her face twisted into that of a monster's- until her friends shoved a stake through her heart, and she exploded into dust. "Never," she murmured._

_"Eh?" Giles said._

_"I take it before they attack," she said. "And I don't turn. I live."_

_There was a moment of hesitation. "Well," Giles said. He handed over the vial, "Don't quote me on the living bit- but at least you won't be a vampire."_

Willow opened her eyes.

Immediately, she regretted it. Dim and watery as it was, the light seemed to drill into her brain, making her head and neck ache. She groaned and shifted, struggling to clamber to her feet. _This is what being hungover must feel like, _she thought, smacking dry lips. Her shoulders cracked as she rolled them out, and she winced, grimly relishing the feeling. _Not_, Willow mused sourly, _that I've ever had any party experience in my entire life._

Someone coughed behind her. "Hey."

Willow yelped and scuttled backwards, faster than she thought her sore body was capable of. Her shoulder slammed into something hard. She bit back a curse.

Angel was slumped in the corner, looking darkly amused. "I didn't expect that much of an overreaction," he said dryly. "It was entertaining though. Don't let me stop you."

_Fucking sarcastic vampire._ "Angel," Willow gasped, head spinning. We- we…" She cast wildly about, trying to figure out where they were. A high window, sunlight streaming in, black lines of uniform shadows drawn on the floor. A row of iron bars. "We're locked up," she realized.

"You don't say."

_ Deep breaths. Don't panic. Think like Buffy. _"We need to get out of her," Willow said, forcing the quaverout of her voice. "The others will be looking for us. They won't have any idea where we are." She blinked. "How did we get in here anyway?"

Angel stared at her. "You don't remember?" Willow shook her head. "You tagged along with me when I went to get some information. Then some girl with really phony Jamaican accent showed up, slapped me around a bit, and threw me in here. You made a heroic attempt to defend me," he grinned bleakly, "But she knocked you out and threw you in as well."

"Wow." Willow nodded. "And that's that?"

"Yup."

"Okay." She glanced around. "It's dusty in here," she remarked. "And very sunny- and- and that's probably a problem for you, isn't it?" she said.

The amusement had vanished from his face. He nodded, pressing a little deeper into his corner. "Someone needs to find us soon," he said quietly.

Willow resisted her own snappy retort. _You don't say! _

Angel didn't say much after that, and Willow felt too uneasy to bother him. He stared at his shoes, apparently lost in thought. _He looks so hopeless. _She drummed her fingers against her thigh. It was an oddly comforting action, and the sound her hand made, tapping against the coarse fabric of her jeans, filled the dead silence of the room.

There was rust at the bottom of the bars. She pressed gingerly against them, but they held firm.

"I guess we just wait then," Willow said finally.

Angel shrugged. "I guess so."

Try as she might, Willow couldn't tear her eyes away from the broad swath of sunlight, inching across the ground. She could have sworn its creeping pace was accelerating. _Go away_, she thought crossly. Nothing happened. Angel strained to get out of range.

"You don't think I could try to block it, do you?" she asked timidly.

Angel seemed to struggle to not roll his eyes. "Your shadow will hardly be enough. But thanks anyway." He paused. "You can do me one favor."

"What?"

He turned away from her. "Don't kick up my dust when I'm dead." His voice was muffled by the wall.

Willow scowled at his back.

They lapsed back into silence. Willow, growing restless, braided her hair, and then started juggling calculus equations in her head. Anything to take her mind off the present. An unwanted thought floated to the front of her mind. _What happens when the girl comes back?_

The sunlight was starting to steam off of Angel's exposed ear. He didn't react.

Hinges squealed behind Willow. Someone grabbed her shoulders, sending her staggering out the door. A scrawny looking man grabbed Angel and dragged him out of the room, paying no attention to the smoke that rolled off the vampire's skin. Angel made no protest. He stirred weakly when he reached the shadows.

Willow followed them. "Thank you," she said.

Willy grunted. A strip of sweat shone on his upper lip.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't answer for a few moments, instead fumbling around with something on the floor. There was a grinding noise, and a puff of silt. Then a flagstone came up, leaving a yawning black hole in its place. Willy the Snitch indicated the opening with a flourish. "Down," he said.

There was an unceremonious thump as Angel's body hit the bottom. Willy went next, landing with rather more precision. _Right on top of Angel, by the sound of it_. Willow stared into the blackness, struggling to see something.

_You're escaping. This is easy, compared to what I've faced before_. She gave a delicate little shiver, and smoothed down the front of her pink sweater. _So why am I so afraid?_

She slid in, feet first.

There was the briefest, tumbling sense of disorientation, and then Willow was on firm footing. Now that she was in the pit, she could vaguely make out her settings. It was a sewer, by the looks of it. Dampness lapped at her toes, and the grimy walls seemed to press in from all sides. She turned around slowly, heart in her throat, trying to peer into the shadows. Angel and Willy were nowhere to be seen.

"Hello?" she called.

Someone- again- grabbed her from behind. Willow spun around, expecting to see Angel. Instead, someone hit her. She went sailing across the chamber, to slam into the opposite wall. A sob escaped her lips. Through a red haze of pain she caught only the blurriest glimpses of glistening pale hair, a sharp cold face, a predatory grin.

"Hello, cutie," smiled Spike.

And not for the first time that day, Willow Rosenberg was knocked unconscious.


End file.
